


Initiation

by empressarcana



Series: Storyteller and Muse [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Original, Angst, Chemistry, M/M, Magical Bond, Meant To Be, Romance, Tarot, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24801676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressarcana/pseuds/empressarcana
Summary: When a Storyteller is chosen, they gain the ability to create and destroy, but it all comes at a price. Timothee has been chosen and his initiation ceremony is only hours away. A certain Mr. Hammer from the Recorders Department only makes Timmy question everything even more, but he cannot help the surge of emotions flowing through him every time he sees Armie. He soon finds out how important a Muse is to a Storyteller, discovering the power of desire and how far he will go to keep his inspiration alive.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Storyteller and Muse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793848
Comments: 16
Kudos: 17





	1. Congratulations

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I haven't publicly posted anything in years. I felt I had to remedy that. This fic is based off the world of my novel series (WIP sadly ;;) and I wanted to share a little with you. I truly felt such a strong connection to the concepts of my stories and the bond between Timmy and Armie. I introduce some of the elements of my novel enough to add to the plot of the fic. Originally, I was going to post the first chapter, yesterday, on my birthday, but I wanted to make sure I edited this proper. Please let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Timmy, Armie, and Saoirse are not mine. The world I've built and the elements involved in the story are though.

Staring at his reflection in the mirror was always troublesome for Timothee, knowing deep down the expectations of what he wanted to see, opposed to what he saw weighed him down, greatly. Studying diligently, he dedicated all his time to his classes and did his absolute best to set an example for the other “Hopefuls”. He still could not wrap his head around the idea of studying only to have a chance at becoming a Storyteller. Sure, Hopefuls had various career choices from Enchanters, Recorders, to Seekers, with the Muse being an important role, too. Without the Muse, the Storyteller would lose their mind, falling into the depths of insanity.

Timothee chuckled to himself, realizing the irony of most students wanting to become a Storyteller, when it was more a curse than a gift. The first year—the first day of their teachings, students of Doloremstella, which translates to Star of Sorrow (why would they name their school something so depressing?), are told Storytellers are meant to fall into madness, into the corruption. A Storyteller’s mind stayed healthy with a capable Muse to inspire them. With the Storyteller’s enchanted item to hone their abilities, the corruption was kept under control as well.

He looked at himself in the mirror again, straightening up, observing how the outfit his sister picked suited him. She had told Timothee, he would look so handsome and everyone at the ceremony would have their eyes on him. Unfortunately, compliments only gave him crippling anxiety and Timmy was rather close to going into a panicky, laughing fit.

“Shit, not now.”

A knock on Timothee’s room door snapped him out of his thoughts— _good riddance_ —walked over and answered. He opened the door to be greeted by his best friend, wrapping her arms around him, saying some gibberish or other about Timmy. He could only assume it was a _formal_ , congratulations.

“Saoirs—I need to brea—” Timothee pulled her off him and laughed, “T-Thanks. You were trying to congratulate and not kill me before the ceremony, right?”

Immediately, Saoirse placed her hands on her hips, replying in her best scolding tone, “I’ll have you know, Chalamet, if I were trying to kill you, you would be none the wiser. So, take the compliment and tell me about your feelings. You look like you might pass out!”

Timothee ran a hand through his hair, mind wandering off to the turbulent thoughts of the future once more, “Feelings, huh? I do not think I have enough time to dive into those waters. Besides, it’s boring.” He smiled looking away from her, “They’re only going to initiate me and I am going to gain these terrifying but also cool abilities, in which I can create and destroy with minimal effort, only at the cost of my sanity,” he took a deep breath and continued, “leading me to become this thing of corruption and I won’t be _me_ anymore, more like a lifeless puppet and what is even the point of being chosen for this?” Timothee could hardly control the panic and anxiety rushing through him. “I mean—I thought I wanted this, I want to back out, I don’t think I can—”

Saoirse’s eyes widened and she slapped his cheek, without remorse, or so it felt. “I-I T-Timmy, you have to calm down! If you are getting cold feet about this, you must listen to yourself. This is big Timmy, I mean, the first of the Storytellers is here to initiate _you_. She found _you_ had the potential for so much more. Yes, it sounds terrifying because it is. It doesn’t change the fact it is still a gift and a curse, but you have been chosen to help in the reconstruction of our world, to protect it, to protect those most dear to you.”

She was shaking and tears were forming in her eyes, Timmy felt horrible. He knew she had wanted to become a Storyteller. She had the potential, but the Council chose him instead. Saoirse was ready to sacrifice herself without even a second thought, and here he was moping around, wanting to call it quits. He muttered softly under his breath, feeling his cheek emanating heat from shame and the slap, “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“N-No, I’m sorry for slapping you,” she wiped her eyes. “You have every right to be frightened, Timmy. I was not chosen to be a Storyteller, but I still have the power of choice.” Saoirse put her hand over her chest, clutching her shirt, “I chose to be a Seeker. My job is to find a cure for the corruption. I am making it my priority, Timmy, for your sacrifices not to be in vain.”

Timothee could not believe how strong Saoirse’s resolve was. He grinned wide, bumping their foreheads together, gently, “Thank you for bringing me back from inside my head. Let us work together to make the world a better place.”

She nodded and smiled, “Thank you for being honest. If you had not expressed yourself like this, it would have stayed inside you, festering and it would have been detrimental after initiation, Tim.”

Saoirse was right. If Timothee kept the storm of emotions inside, with no outlet of expression, the emotions could have triggered the corruption after initiation.

The conversation was interrupted as there was another knock on the door and someone calling out, “Special delivery for Timothee Chalamet!”

“Well, then,” The blonde chuckled and reached for the door, taking one look at the delivery person and farther down to what they were holding in their hands. “Whoa, Timmy! These are beautiful!”

“Ah, wha? Who would send me flowers?” Timothee took the bouquet from the messenger’s hands and openly gawked at the arrangement of blue, white, and yellow flowers. He looked back at the person still standing by the door, “Thank you for the delivery. Uh, by any chance do you know who sent them?”

“He told me not to say but—” They covered their mouths as if they had said too much, which from their expression, they did.

Timothee blushed so brightly, he could not contain his excitement. Sure, he had many friends, but none had the money to purchase such a gorgeous—and if he might add romantic—bouquet. “Thanks, again.” He closed the door, still staring at the flowers, slowly placing the vase on his desk.

Saoirse waved her hand over Timothee’s face, “Ground control to Major Tim! Yoohoo! Do you know who sent you these flowers?”

Still indulging all his senses, Timothee moved closer to touch one of the blue flowers and right above the arrangement a shape started to take form. Slowly, blue willowy smoke twisted, forming two dolphins, each nuzzling the other so delicately. The dolphins turned into another shape, humanlike, and the smoke entwined with Timothee’s body. He could feel a pair of arms wrapping themselves around him, moving closer to his mouth. It felt so intimate. He had never experienced anything like that before. He did not know one could create a flower arrangement to have this kind of enchantment.

Timothee’s breath hitched as he could feel a heat over his lips. He felt a hunger bubbling in the pit of his stomach, an aching familiarity but a sadness clouding his senses as well.

“You know, I feel I should give you privacy,” Saoirse blushed. Her voice led Timothee to open his eyes, not noticing he had closed them to begin with.

“I-I’m sorry, I have to go,” Timothee had to confront him. How could he do this to Timmy right before his initiation ceremony? The smoke dissipated and he was left feeling empty. “Thank you, again. I have to stop by the library.” He said with urgency.

She arched a brow with a devious smirk on her face, “Oh, the library? Do you mean you’re going to stop by the Recorders Department to see, Mr. Hammer?”

Timothee looked mortified at the wriggling of his best friend’s eyebrows. He shook his head, “I need to get some questions answered before the ceremony.” He was not lying. Timmy did have questions needing answers and Mr. Hammer was going to answer them.

Without saying another word, he stormed out of the room making his way to the library, leaving Saoirse, hoping her curiosity was not tickled enough to follow him.


	2. Ego

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy meets up with Mr. Hammer in the library and gets a taste of what is to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER WAS VERY HARD TO WRITE. Guys, do you know how much sexual tension these two have going on? It was incredibly difficult to stick to my plan. It took me forever to edit and with all the drama it took me longer. Regardless, here it is my fam and I do hope you'll enjoy it. Warning for angst but you'll get a deeper glimpse into the Storyteller world.
> 
> I will say, I had wayyyyy too much fun writing Armie's dialogue in this chapter, oh goodness!
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Timmy, Armie, and Saoirse are not mine. The world I've built and the elements involved in the story are though.

Walking down the corridor, Timothee’s thoughts were swirling in his head, reaching strange conclusions from the flowers he had received. He had not wanted to mention it in front of Saoirse, because if she knew who had sent him the bouquet, she was not going to let Timmy off the hook. Timmy could hear her voice—possibly his conscience—in his head, reminding him how ridiculous it was to have allowed such feelings to become out of control as it had.

Timothee’s classmates noticed him rushing down the long hallway to get to the library, greeting him, others whistling, and some even congratulated him. He muttered a ‘thanks’ but wouldn’t dare stop until he arrived at his destination.

Standing in front of tall, wooden, double-doors, Timothee made his way into the library. He stopped to breathe, not realizing he had been holding his breath before stepping inside. The number of books and records was intimidating to see decorating the walls, a reminder one’s story lives on. The Department of Records chronicled each Storyteller’s history from the moment they were born, to being chosen, till the day their story seized continuation.

Timothee looked down, reminding himself of this truth. He knew his book was being worked on, especially with the initiation ceremony being today. Right, Timmy had questions needing answers. Where was he? Where was Armie?

Maybe, he had already left to get ready for the ceremony as well. Maybe, he had not sent the bouquet and Timmy was wasting his time. Armie was not Timmy’s special someone or anything, they only had a connection he was too invested in, wanting more along the way. Every time Timmy saw Armie his heart would skip a beat and all he wanted was to be around him.

They would talk for hours about nothing and everything all at once. When his sister introduced Armie as the Recorder to take her place, all Timmy could see was blue, dreamy blue, expressive eyes. The man extended a hand in his direction. _Take his hand_ , Timmy’s mind would say but his very essence was taken in by the friendly hypnotic gaze.

_“Hey, I’m the new Recorder of the books. I am Armie, it is a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about your talents.”_

A blush crept up Timothee’s cheeks as he recalled his first meeting with Armie. He seemed fun and carefree, but as Timmy got to know him the mask he wore began to fall apart. Armie had a darkness within, which only attracted Timothee more deeply, wanting to know every secret, every part of him.

After classes, Timothee made it routine to go to the library and meet up with Armie, talk with him about his day, or ask him where to find more information about the history of the Storyteller War or the persecutions. Every time Armie would pull out a book, open it to turn to a specific page, Timmy could feel himself swallow hard at the tone of Armie’s voice, instructing him on his inquiries. Yet, every spoken word between them left Timmy drifting off, allowing his imagination to wander, wanting to hear the same silky, smooth baritone voice whispering in his ear, telling him to get down on his knees.

Flustered was an understatement, Timothee bit down on his lip hard enough to taste a hint of blood, licking it away. _Snap out of it_ , he told himself. Getting riled up before the ceremony was not a smart idea, but Timmy was allowing himself to fall in so deeply. His desires were showing and all he wanted was to see Armie. Even if all they had were their talks, accidental brush of hands, touch lingering a little longer hoping never to let go—Timmy basked in the feeling.

He continued to walk deeper into the library, looking right, left, only seeing more and more books. Ah, Timothee was near Armie’s office, he had been there once. The day was much like this one, with an empty library and only the stories in the myriad of books to witness their meeting. He had asked Armie for his opinion on enchanted items and what would suit Timmy best. Armie had said an enchanted item could be anything, it did not need to have personal value, but usually items with personal history were ones most dear and protected.

Timothee sighed as he stared at Armie’s desk, remembering the conversation all too vividly.

_“Can a person become an enchanted item,” Timothee asked, feeling a bit foolish, knowing the answer but wanting to ask him anyway. He sat on the edge of the writing desk, watching Armie write some notes down, wearing his glasses. The calm aura he emitted was a rare sight._

_Armie stopped writing and looked up at Timmy, smiling softly,_ _“Wouldn’t that make them an enchanted person, if that were the case? Either way, no, I haven’t heard of anyone becoming a Storyteller’s enchanted item.” He sighed as he took off his glasses, “People die. If they were an enchanted item, Storytellers would fall into corruption at the drop of a hat.”_

_“Enchanted items can be destroyed as well. I remember reading in class how Hunters would lure Storytellers with the guise of being a friend. Instead, they were foe, becoming close enough to gain the Storytellers trust and destroy their enchanted item. Many have been taken to the Asylum of Babel, never seen again,” Timothee spoke heatedly, recalling his lesson and how disturbed and disgusted he felt. He clenched his fists, putting himself in the position of anyone being led on to then be betrayed. If only it was just a betrayal, no, the Storytellers were purposely taken down, allowing the curse to destroy their person, their sanity, their story._

_“Tim,” Armie’s voice was a mere whisper as he placed a hand over Timmy’s, “it is horrible, it is inhumane. Everyone’s story should be told and never ended prematurely. Still, if we could be an enchanted item for a Storyteller, Hunters will target more and more people to find those supposedly enchanted. We don’t need more unnecessary deaths.” His thumb soothingly grazed Timmy’s hand, carefully—lovingly. “Besides, Storytellers also have their Muse and are connected even when separated. Nothing compares to the bond they share.”_

_Timothee made a noise of approval, appreciating the gesture, but wanting more contact. He turned to face Armie,_ _“It’s no wonder Storytellers and their Muses fall in love.” Timmy took Armie’s hand and brought it to his chest._

The memory felt so real, he had to exhale, breathe in again the present, his surroundings in the moment. Timothee never understood how he could become so lost in a memory, living it again and again, feeling as if a story were coming to life, just for him. He walked into Armie’s office, observing the coat hanging from the back of his chair. Timmy smiled fondly, reaching out to touch it, feeling the fabric between his fingers and wanting nothing more than Armie to be wearing his coat. He wanted Armie to be in front of him, be in the room with him.

Taking the coat from the chair, Timothee brought it close to himself and breathed in the scent, _his_ scent, blended with smoky sandalwood. “Armie,” he whispered, grasping the coat tighter, “ _Armie_ _._ ”

“T-Timmy?”

“Huh,” Timothee heard a voice and he looked over at the entrance of Armie’s office. Standing there with a look of utter confusion on his face was Armie and immediately Timmy dropped the coat he was holding as if it had burned him. “A-Ar—I-I mean, Mr. Hammer, I’m sorry, I’ll pick that up. I-I was looking for you.” He quickly picked up the coat from the floor, dusting it off and feeling his cheeks burning from embarrassment.

Armie raised his eyebrows, chuckling, “Honestly, seems more as if you were looking for my coat.” He shook his head making his way to Timmy, “And really, _Mr. Hammer?_ I thought we crossed the bridge of formalities long ago. You know you don’t have to be formal with me, Tim.”

“Crossed the bridge, huh,” Timothee let the words roll from his tongue, resonating with them and smiling. He felt elated knowing their connection had one less barrier, even if barriers were all their bridge ever knew.

“So, you were looking for me,” Armie asked, moving closer to Timothee, without breaking eye contact. “What about? Don’t you have your initiation ceremony today?”

Timothee nodded, “Yes, I do. I-I received a gorgeous flower arrangement,” he felt his body grow hot at their proximity, only Armie’s coat between them.

A smirk graced Armie’s lips, taking the coat from Timmy’s grasp and placing it on his desk. Now, there was nothing between them except the clothes on their backs and Timmy could hardly form a complete sentence from the heat. Who gave Armie the right to wear such a sinful expression on his face? Such an expression should not be allowed, especially not while he looked at Timmy, not like that. “Really? You seem to have an admirer.”

“I didn’t know a bouquet could be enchanted to come to life in such a way,” Timothee closed his eyes and remembered the dolphins, even the figure with its closeness, its embrace. He wanted to feel it again. He wanted to feel Armie embrace him, be close enough to feel his heart beating. Upon opening his eyes again, Armie’s own eyes were hooded and he looked as flushed as Timmy felt.

“You seem to have enjoyed it. I’m glad,” Armie said as he moved one of Timmy’s curls away from his eyes.

“Was it you,” Timothee asked, wanting to close the gap between them, reach for Armie and kiss him. He had never felt so out of control, Timmy’s emotions were always running on high but today was different. The contact Timmy was yearning for was coming from a place he did not even know was part of him. He needed it to survive, to create, and most importantly, _to exist_.

Armie leaned in to whisper in Timmy’s ear, “ _I would tell you if I could._ ” He took a step back, giving him a look from head to toe, smiling and admiring Timothee all at once. “You look really handsome. Who dressed you?”

Timothee did not know how to respond. He knew it was Armie. He knew Armie was the one who sent the bouquet. Why did it have to be kept a secret? He did not see anything wrong with sending a bouquet with an intimate enchantment to a student. Oh. _Right._ Timmy sighed, trying to keep a sense of composure but Armie’s compliment caught him off guard, much like everything Armie does. “T-Thanks, my sister picked it out. She said everyone’s eyes would be on me tonight.”

Without hesitation, Armie replied, “She’s not wrong. I know my eyes won’t be looking elsewhere.”

None of Armie’s shameless flirting was fair, whatsoever! How could the man in front of him act so nonchalant when they were close enough to kiss not even a minute ago? The plethora of emotions flooding Timothee’s senses were running wild, he felt drunk on their shared heat. He smiled, trying to find words to respond with, trying not to grab Armie and kiss him until they were gasping for air. No, Timmy, _bad_. Shit, he had been staring at Armie and smiling for longer than anyone would consider to be proper etiquette.

“Good,” Timmy finally replied. “You’ll have a first-row seating of me being a nervous wreck on stage.”

“Nonsense,” Armie shook his head, “you’re going to be fine. You give yourself too little credit.” A slight frown appeared on his once smiling face. Timmy knew it was his fault. He never liked it when Timmy would be his own worst enemy.

What was it with Timmy today? First, he made Saoirse worry and now he was causing Armie unease as well. Timothee chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, “Sorry, I’m a mess. Still, I am looking forward to getting my own Muse, though.” He ran a hand through his hair, “I hope she’s hot.”

The look on Armie’s face changed immediately, now looking more on the devious side. Timmy was intrigued. Armie closed the gap between them, again, smirking, “Assuming your Muse will be female, that is.”

Armie’s breath was hot against Timmy’s lips and the intensity of his words created an almost suffocating atmosphere. Timothee could not take it, he could hardly breathe, and every inch of Armie was too much for him. “Yeah, I guess,” he quickly muttered, not knowing what else to say. All Timmy had in his mind was to devour Armie, not caring whether they were in the library or how his ceremony would commence in a few hours.

“Is that your preference? You desire a female Muse?” The questions left Armie’s mouth, but all Timmy could process was the rapid beating of his heart. He had looked at Timmy with inquisitive eyes, searching for answers, his gaze slowly turning heated and stepping closer to him.

Timothee had not realized he was backed up against the wall, entranced by Armie and the heat. _I can_ _not breathe._ “Not exactly desire,” Timmy replied, voice shaking with confused arousal. He wanted Armie, _oh_ , he wanted him, but Timmy could not understand why the chemistry between them had intensified to critical levels. Was this normal? Why did Timmy’s preference matter to Armie?

“Hm, I see,” Armie leaned into the crook of Timmy’s neck, breathing him in, lips dangerously close to his skin, feeling the heat rise from every pore in his body. “ _Then, what is it you desire?_ ”

Armie was so close, he smelled so good. Timmy felt his world turning upside down as he closed his eyes. His ego was getting the best of him, wanting this to be real, doubting everything happening before him. _Was it real?_ Timmy shakily reached to grab a fistful of Armie’s hair, “ _I n-need you._ _”_ The words coming out of Timmy’s mouth were foreign to him, he could hardly believe how words could ooze desire as well.

“T-Tim,” Armie groaned when Timmy grabbed his hair. He pressed his body against Timmy, placing noisy, openmouthed kisses over his neck, “you’re burning up.”

To Timothee’s disappointment, Armie pulled away but brought a hand to his face, caressing him so lovingly. Timmy opened his eyes, realizing those bright blues he fell for on their first meeting were now a darker shade. The man’s cheeks were dusted pink and all Timmy wanted was to feel Armie’s heated skin against his own. He took hold of Armie’s hand and placed a kiss over it, but something caught his attention.

“What’s this,” Timothee asked, his whole body going from hot to cold.

Armie wore a pained expression on his face, “I-I forgot about this.”

Timothee’s eyes widened as he got a better look at the ring on his finger, “How does one forget something as important as _this_? Y-You. . . I never saw you wear one.” He felt so hurt, so stupid. Timmy knew something was amiss. He did not feel it normal to feel such passion and chemistry, not as they felt. He felt out of control. Usually, Timmy kept his desires in check, not letting them govern his actions, but today was as if he had _no control_. “A-Are you engaged?” He felt sick uttering the question.

“Yes, it happened last night. Tim, listen, I am so—”

He cut Armie off and let go of his hand, “Maybe I should be congratulating you on your engagement instead of,” Timothee’s voice trailed off as he looked away, “whatever this was!”

“Timmy, _I am sorry_ , usually I keep these feelings under control. I would have never acted upon them, especially if it meant hurting you,” Armie looked mortified. He was spewing a mess of words, but Timothee could only focus on being hurt and confused.

Wait? What did Armie say? He usually kept his feelings under _control_. He would have never acted upon them. Armie’s excuses sounded terribly like how Timothee felt. “I can’t do this right now. I have to go.”

Armie looked defeated and sighed, “I swear, the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

“Well, too late for that,” Timothee shook his head, trying to keep his emotions in check, but he had felt the chaotic tug at his heart since morning. Everything Timmy learned in his classes were useless for how shitty he felt. Storytellers in training had to keep their emotions under lock and key, Timothee had to. “Ceremony starts soon, gonna head out. Later.”

He did not look back, not even after Armie called out to him. Timothee could not focus on this, not now, he had an important event today. The event was going to change his life. He chose to focus on his initiation and his future, which _Mr. Hammer_ was not going to be a part of, not now, not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem. If you survived reading through this chapter, don't hesitate to message me about your thoughts here or on tumblr (@empressarcana). Next chapter, will be, well, you'll have to stick around and see! Later! ;)  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> If you are enjoying my work, please do let me know. You can follow me on all social media, I'm empressarcana in most places, including tumblr. :D
> 
> Also, if you enjoy tarot readings, definitely check out my youtube channel @empressarcana. I will also be posting lots of creative writing exercises with the cards and more of my original work. ♥


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